


THE FAMILY BUSINESS: Saving People, Hunting Things

by Dickensgal31



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Injury Recovery, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3173844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dickensgal31/pseuds/Dickensgal31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s at Stanford, John’s in the wind, Dean’s hunting alone until... he ends up in the hospital.  Recovering at Bobby’s has him rethinking how to live after Ash floats an outrageous plan!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This was originally started for an SPN challenge but unfortunately couldn't be completed as such. But, I'm happy to post it here and can't wait to hear what you think. Thanks, again, to Kyrie for her wonderful beta skills! I had quite a bit of fun with this. Enjoy, Lisa

__

**_ ** 2005 ** _ **

_It should have been just an ordinary hunt. A creature is a creature. Right? And I’d been on so many hunts. Too many to count, but it had to be dozens. Lots of dozens. Maybe even a couple hundred. Probably closer to a few hundred. Anyway, a lot._

_This should have been just a regular monster of the day kind of hunt._

_I wasn’t supposed to end up getting hurt. I definitely wasn’t supposed to end up in the hospital. Christ! Shut up! Okay seriously, Winchester, glaring at the annoying machine making the annoying beeping sound just like it did on Doctor Sexy is not going to make it be quiet. And it’s not like Doctor Sexy is gonna walk through the door anytime soon._

_Jeeze my throat’s so dry. Swallowing glass would probably be easier._

_And I feel, huh! Wait, I gotta check me out. See what I still got… bandages. A lot of ‘em. Bandages. But two legs, good. Arms, good. Eyes, ooh, one, okay, not so good, but, I’m seeing. Dark room, but can see stuff, so, yeah, it’s good. But, jeeze I’m frikkin’ stiff. That’s a good word for it, but not in the happy place._

He moved his hands and realized he was wearing gloves. _Oh, hell, that’s not right._ He looked down. _Bandages. Thick ones._ He tried to remember what was wrong with them. But his head was fuzzy.

Dean squinted as he looked around the darkened room. He heard the squeak of rubber-soled shoes and the soft whir of wheeled carts. _I wonder how you get to take a pee around here?_

He looked around the room again. His eyes locked on the clock opposite his bed. _Eleven-thirty._ His eyes slid to the window on his right. _Lights. Night. Eleven-thirty at night._

He slid his eyes down to his hands. He tried to remember but his head got that heavy fuzzy feeling. _Maybeeylssslee_ …

Dean’s eyes fluttered open for a second. The noise from outside was louder and then gone again. His eyes slightly opened again. “Eyz too’evy…”

 

  
Ellen looked over at an exhausted Bobby Singer. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen him this exhausted since taking care of Karen. She didn’t even try to move him when he slumped into the couch and fell asleep minutes later. Letting out a sigh she realized how tired she was herself. It had been a long few days and tough ones too.

She glanced over at the duffle bag they’d taken from Dean’s car. Bobby had it out in the carport behind the house. She brought in the duffel thinking that somewhere in there was the way to get in touch with Dad of the century, John Winchester. No such luck.

“Damn the man.” Her whisper was swallowed by the empty room. Dean’s duffle held the sum total of the kid’s life except for the car, his ‘Baby’. Letting out another long sigh, she pushed tiredly out of the chair and settled herself in Bobby’s downstairs guest room. It was the same room he nursed Karen in when she could be home.

Bobby felt a vibration somewhere on his body through the haze of sleep that didn’t want to lift. The vibration came a second time and Bobby patted around his chest and hips trying to find locate the annoying whatever it was. He nestled further into the corner of the sofa where he’d spent the night.

The third time he felt the vibrating, he sat up still in the comfortable bluntness of sleep, “Confound it!” He patted down the worn boiled-wool jacket. “Dammit!” He fumbled in the deep pockets and brought out the offending silvery black instrument. “Try to get a little sleep here,” he groused as he opened the phone, “Singer!”

“Oh, good! Mr. Singer,” a slightly breathless voice had Bobby sitting up slightly, “this Charlotte Cutty, I’m a nurse at Sanford Medi…”

“What’s wrong with Dean?” Bobby was instantly awake and sitting at the edge of the sofa. “Tell me!”

“Oh, oh, no,” the nurse took a breath, “Mr. Winchester is awake. He’s resting. But he’s fully conscious, now. I saw on the chart that you were to be informed.”

Bobby closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief, “Okay. Good. I’ll be there in less than an hour.” He thought for a moment, “Did anyone talk to Dean about his injuries, yet?”

“No, sir, not yet.”

“Okay good,” he sucked in a deep breath, “don’t until I get there, yeah?”

“Can do, sir,” Nurse Cutty assured him, “I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

“Do that. Thanks.” He glanced over at the clock and heaved himself from the sofa with a groan as his back stretched protesting its nightlong cramped position. “Creaky old bastard.” He padded in sock-clad feet to the bathroom and then out to the kitchen. He poured a cup of the cold coffee from last night and stuck it in the microwave.

“Do not drink that swill,” Ellen groused from the doorway followed by a yawn, “I’ll make fresh.”

“Nah,” Bobby shook his head, “Dean’s awake. I wanna get over there. Just need a little jolt.

Ellen straightened up, “Go get dressed, I caught a shower last night and we’ll head out.” She took the cup from his hand with a wrinkled nose, “This,” she lifted the mug, “is gut rot. We’ll stop on the way.” She gently pushed him, “Go!”

 

 

Bobby hated the smell of hospitals. They were too clean. Too bright. Too stiff. And he really hated the disinfectant non-smell of too sanitized life. Even the sounds grated on his nerves. The squeak of the nurses shoes, the swish of curtains running on too smooth ball-bearings. That hum of fluorescent lights. It sent shivers down his spine the way a bloodsucking monster couldn’t.

He kept his eyes focused on the numbers as the elevator rose to the fifth floor. Then he kept his eyes peeled for the directions to room 527. He liked the number of that. Good numbers. Good numbers for Dean. He felt Ellen’s presence at his side and was just grateful not to have to be here on his own.

“He’s going to be all right, you know,” Ellen whispered as they turned the corner following the arrow to the room number. “He’s a tough kid.”

“He shouldn’t have to be this tough.” Bobby said it quietly. But Ellen knew how he felt about the boy. _Hell, he’s a man. Twenty-six._

“And he ain’t no kid,” Bobby protested gruffly, “hasn’t been since he was a tyke of four.”

Ellen let out a sigh, “I know.” She stopped with Bobby beside her, “Here we are.” She took the chair outside the room, “You go in. I’ll come in later, gonna call Jo and Ash.”

Bobby tried to keep from cringing as he entered Dean’s room. Adjusting his cap he rolled his shoulders and with a nod to himself pushed the slightly ajar door. He stopped for a moment and surveyed Dean, he ran his eyes from the foot of the bed to the military short hair that was half swathed in the pristine bandages.

Dean’s eyes were open and fixed on the ceiling. At least the one without the patch was fixed on it. _I’ll bet my last buck the kid is going over what the hell he did to land him flat on his back._

Clearing his throat as a warning, Bobby came over to the bed, “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, Bobby.” Dean’s deep baritone was raspier from tubes and disuse. He turned his head slightly toward him. Bobby could see all the recriminations one person could possibly heap on themselves.

“You seen the doc, yet?”

Dean frowned slightly, “He was just here. Said he wanted to wait for you.” His eye blinked slowly, “Am I gonna be okay? Does Dad know?”

Bobby grit his teeth to keep the string of curses that exploded out of him last night from making a repeat appearance. He shrugged slightly, “I tried. But, his phone says to call you.”

Dean nodded slowly. He looked down as he bandaged hands, “Sam. You didn’t tell Sam, right?”

Bobby shook his head, “’Course not.”

Dean swallowed thickly and nodded as much as he could. “Good. That’s good.” He let out a small breath. Bobby watched the kid’s Adam’s apple working overtime. He grabbed the cup with the straw attached and held it to Dean’s mouth. “Take a sip.”

Dean gave him a small smile and took a deep sip of the cool water, “Thanks,” he dropped his hands back to his lap. “Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“I think this is bad, huh?” He held up his hands. “Burns, right?”

Bobby nodded, “Not sure how you got ‘em though.” He adjusted his cap and hitched his chair closer, “What the hell were you hunting?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I toldjya.”

“Try me,” Bobby leaned toward him, “you had to have surgery, Dean. You’re pretty tore up and you’ve got more than 200 stitches. Now, what the hell were you after?”

Dean frowned as he thought back. He let out a deep sigh and winced at the pain that lanced through his chest.

“Use the pain thing,” Bobby pointed to the machine on Dean’s right. “Can you press it?” He stood and put it in Dean’s heavily wrapped right hand, but the thumb was separate.

Dean pressed the small plunger. “I got the good stuff, huh?”

“You were half dead when they brought you in!” Bobby plopped down in the chair, “I’m just glad you’re alive, ya idjit!”

Dean gave the man he thought of as a surrogate father a small smile, “I was in Minnesota. Is that where I am now?”

Bobby shook his head, “We had you transferred to Sioux Falls. You’re in Sanford.” He turned as the door swung open expecting to see Ellen, but instead saw the doctor that had taken Dean in three days earlier.

“Well, hey! I see our patient is up!” The slightly rotund doctor had a nearly jolly mannerism. Jolly usually made Bobby cranky. Now, he found it oddly comforting. “So, Mr. Winchester,” he grinned at Dean, “I’m Dr. Herron, Neil. And now, I wasn’t the one to patch you up totally, some of that was done in Minnesota. You’ve had surgery. We had to use several pins in your left leg to repair the damage. Your right leg was torn up pretty badly, took a lot of sutures to get you back together.” He looked at Dean skeptically, “not sure what would do such damage. Care to enlighten me?”

Dean let out a small incredulous whine at the back of his throat, “If I told ya, doc, you’d put me in the psyche ward.”

Dr. Herron’s brows shot up to his receding hairline, “Try me.”

Dean shook his head. He looked over at Bobby and then back at the doc, “Will I walk?”

The doc frowned slightly and nodded, “With therapy, you should be fine. You’ll have a slight limp for a bit, but nothing that shouldn’t resolve with work. You’re young and in excellent physical condition. That’s going to help you.”

“Awesome.” Dean nodded, “Work I can do.” His lips went taut again, “My eye?”

“You had debris in it. Scratched the cornea, we just want you to rest it.” He explained, “Your eye will be fine. You had a pretty bad laceration,” he pointed at Dean’s head, “over your temporal lobe. Quite a big,” he smirked, “goose egg of a hematoma there too. No fractures, no bleeding in the brain.” He came to the side of the bed, “Your hands will take some time to heal. They were torn up and burned. Odd burns.”

“Odd? How?” Bobby asked leaning toward the doc, “Burns are burns.”

Herron shook his head, “Not really. These look like chemical burns, but no trace of anything chemical and yet the palm side is burned like fire.”

After the doc finished checking Dean over and once they were alone, Bobby leaned over Dean, “What the hell were you hunting?”

Dean pressed himself back deeper into the pillows. “Bobby…” Bobby glared at him through narrowed eyes, “Dean…”

The young hunter let out a small sigh of capitulation, “A dragon.”

“Oh, fuck!” Bobby shook his head and looked back at Dean. “Idjit!”

 

End, Part One

Thank you for reading... I'd adore hearing what you thought. Your comments are a writer's currency!

Photo courtesy of Sanford Medical Center

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Ten days later Dean shook off the sterility of Sanford Med Center and took up residence in Bobby’s back guest room. It was going to be a long recovery. The patch was off the eye and it was a little light sensitive, but he could see out of it just fine. He counted himself lucky. His hands were still a mess and still bandaged, but not as thickly as before. IF he was lucky then there wouldn’t be scaring that was too bad, mostly on his palm side.

The next twenty-five days were a nightmare of a different kind.

The concept of sleeping comfortably was a thing of the past. Casts and itchy sutures were a new experience in Hell. Keeping the one leg out straight, well that sucked too and kept him stuck either in the bed or on Bobby’s sofa. And it sucked that he couldn’t do for himself. Hell, he couldn’t even take a pee without help or had to use that little vessel thing which sucked too. He shuddered just thinking about it.

On the forty-second day from the time he woke up, the cast came off his left leg. The suture lines were well healed on his right except in a few spots. The physical therapy had started and that was a new form of torture. And he could use the wheelchair now and that was tricky. He hated it. Mostly because he still couldn’t take a pee without help and that just really sucked. He let out a long sigh.

“You feelin’ sorry for yourself, son?”

Dean looked over at the doorway. Rufus Turner leaned against the jamb filling the space with his body and his presence.

“Mr. Turner, hey,” Dean grinned, “it’s good to see ya.” He was dressed and sitting on top of the bed. The morning’s therapy had worn him out a bit. Another thing he wasn’t used to. Being tired. He shook his head, “Nah, tired.”

Rufus nodded as he came into the room and folded himself into the desk chair that was beside the window, “Physio will do that. Plus, you been layin’ about for more than a month.”

Dean grinned, “I know! I’m such a lazy ass!”

Rufus’ chuckle filled the room. But he leaned toward the younger man, “Bobby says you’re doing good now.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah. I am.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, “I know I’m gonna be good. But Bobby’s been so worried. And he’s been so great and I …”

“You what?” Rufus questioned, “Dean. This is what friends do. WE take care of each other.”

Dean nodded.

“Now,” Rufus leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, “what are we gonna do about you huntin’ on your own, hmm?”

Dean’s eyes snapped but he drew his flare of annoyance back, “What else am I gonna do…

“Oh, no no no,” Ash ambled through the doorway, “Mr. Turner, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His usual relaxed posture drawn up in an attempt to be as intimidating as his slim stoner body could muster, “You are harshin’ my man’s mellow, casting a pall on the patient. WE must have only sunshine and light!”

“A pall,” Rufus struggled to keep from laughing, “a pall.”

“Yes,” Ash shot back, “a pall. A dark cloud, like the cloth over the hearse you are causing dreariness in this room. I cannot have that.”

Dean swallowed the chuckle that was threatening to burst from him at any second. Ash had become Dean’s self-appointed happy counselor. He wondered how stoned he had to be at this hour. It was nice that his misery made Ash so happy.

Rufus finally let out a chortle of laughter, “I’m gonna visit with Bobby. We gotta research a hunt.”

“Good,” Ash swept his hand toward the door, “you know the way.” Rufus waved him off and gave the ‘hi’ sign to Dean, “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t forget to bring the sunshine and light,” Dean called out to him still trying not to laugh. Ash looked at him accusingly.

“You mock me?”

Dean shook his head and adopted his most serious expression, “Never. No mocking. Not me. Nope.”

“YOU Mock me!”

“Listen Nurse Ratched, I gotta pee.”

“Want some help with that?”

“Not really,” Dean snorted, “just, can you bring the chair, I want to try on my own.”

Ash rolled the chair to the side of the bed, “I’ll hold it.” Ash became as focused on Dean’s movements as he was when he was hacking a credit card. “Just, go easy.”

The chair was armless at Dean’s request, although arms could be reattached. They were right there behind the door. He just thought it be easier to get in and out of it. He was hoping it wouldn’t be for that long.

Settling in he let Ash push him into the bathroom which had been enlarged when Bobby’s wife took sick. Ash slid the pocket door closed and waited outside. It took a while but about eight minutes later, Dean called out that he was done.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Dean wasn’t used to downtime of any length, so he was itchy for activity. He helped Bobby and Rufus research the case that Rufus was going out on with a new hunter. Ash stuck around for most of the day and left shortly after dinner.

 

 

The next day, Ash bounded into the kitchen just in time for breakfast. Dean was already pulled up to the battered, scarred and well used table that served as the main eating place in Bobby’s house.

“Hey, don’t Ellen and Jo feed you,” Bobby groused as he plated eggs and bacon up for him and Dean and turned to make fresh batch for himself.

“I’m a growing boy,” Ash bit into a piece of bacon, “at least I’m still hopeful.”

Dean chuckled as he took in Ash’s very lean frame and diminutive stature. “Your body ain’t growing, but you gotta feed those brain cells.”

“DUDE!” Ash flashed him a smile, “You are so right! And on that score, my little gray cells were working overtime last night. I’ve had a blinding stroke of genius!”

“I’m happy for you,” Dean said around a mouthful of bacon and eggs. “Try not to hurt yourself.”

Ash snorted loudly, “Dude! That is so cold!”

“Okay,” Bobby sat down across from Dean, “what is this stroke of genius you’re about to bust a gut over?” He took a slurp of coffee as he waited for Ash to empty his chipmunk cheeks full of breakfast.

Finally washing everything down with a swallow of OJ, Ash leaned back in his chair with his arms stretched to the table. He ran his hands over it as if caressing a fine marble, “I think you should train hunters.” He looked at Dean and dared him to object.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few time, looking vaguely like a guppy taking in air, “Say what?”

“Here me out,” Ash shifted in the chair, “You’re good at this, Dean, your present physical condition notwithstanding. But, and I think, again, your present condition attests to this, that it’s very dangerous to hunt alone.”

Dean sucked in a breath that expanded his chest to the point where it hurt but gave Ash a nod. He can picture himself lying dead in a pool of his own blood on the side of the road if he’d not had that matchbook from the Roadhouse with Ellen’s number scribbled inside it. But for her, he’d be gone.

“So,” Ash continued with even more animation than was strictly usual for the hacker, “here’s the thing. There’re always gonna be monsters. Ghost, ghouls, what haveyou. And there aren’t enough hunters, plus no one gets paid for doing this shit job. I say, we, well, you really, change the status quo.”

Dean snorted deep in his throat. “You want me to change…jeeze, Ash! How much you smoke before you got here?”

“Duuude! You malign me!”

Bobby gave a snort similar to Dean’s as he stood and took the plates from the table, “You are somethin’ else, kid.”

“And, again, with the maligning,” Ash protested and hitched up his chair, “Dean. Listen. This could really work, man. You’re smart about this stuff. You know your shit. I’ll bet there are other guys, girls even that want to fight the good fight. And I think we could get some dough out of it too. You could have a life, man. Not have to scam credit cards to eat, ya know.”

Dean let out a long sigh, “As nice as that could sound, Ash, it’s a fantasy.”

“Why?”

Dean looked at him and an aborted laugh stuck in his throat, “Seriously? Ash, c’mon! You think people, towns, mayors really want to know that they’ve got the big bad in their town? You think anyone would believe us that,” he waved his hands in the air, “the supernatural plane exists? That ghosties and goblins really exist?”

He took the mug of coffee Bobby handed him with a quirked brow that the man wasn’t joining in his protest. “You agree with me right, Bobby?”

Bobby took a slow sip of his coffee.

“Bobby?”

Dean’s green eyes flashed with disbelief and then narrowed as he looked at the older man. “Seriously?” He shook his head as he looked back at Ash, “What are you suggesting? We print up business cards, We Kill Monsters?”

“Not exactly.”

 

End, Part Two

Thank you for reading... I'd adore hearing what you thought. Your comments are a writer's currency!

  
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	3. Chapter 3

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Two days passed since Ash floated his Hunter Training School idea. Dean still couldn’t believe that Ash would even hatch such a plan. He concentrated on the current torture the PT guy, Aaron, was calling exercise to strengthen his legs. There’d been muscle damage to both, but luckily he was healing well and would be at full strength sooner than was expected.

At this rate he owed Bobby so much money he’d never be able to repay him. And Ellen, too. They’d both taken care of all the hospital bills.

An hour later he was waiting at the entrance for Bobby or Ellen to pick him up. He wasn’t allowed to drive anything except the wheels under his butt quite yet. A patient exiting held the door open a little longer than necessary and Dean took the opportunity to escape the confines of the rehab’s lobby. Ash had given him a pair of racing gloves when he first got the chair. Now, he could push himself and not damage his still healing hands.

Hearing the blow of a horn he recognized he was slightly surprised to see Jo pull up to the curb in her battered Jeep. Wheeling down, he met her coming around the front end.

“You can get in on your own, right?” Jo opened the passenger door, “What do you want me to do?”

Dean nodded, “Just hold onto the back of the chair. I don’t trust that little metal brake thing.”

Jo pushed her weight onto the chair as Dean lifted himself with the help of the door and pivoted his hips to sit on the seat, “I gotta get in like a girl,” Dean grumbled as he swung his legs in after him.

“Ow!” Dean rubbed his upper arm where Jo had just flicked him sharply.

“That was for the ‘girl’ remark,” Jo collapsed the chair and stuck it into the back, “next time I’ll bring you a corsage and complete the picture.”

“Funny.” Dean gave her a smile that had eat-shit-and-die written all over it.

Jo snorted in a very unladylike way and slammed his door. Quickly rounding the Jeep she popped up onto the driver’s seat, “I heard Mom on the phone with the PT guy. He says you’re doing really good. So stop whining!” She put the car in gear and headed home.

“Me? Whine?” Dean gave a low guttural growl, “I do not whine. I’m a Winchester, dammit!”

Jo tried hard not to laugh but didn’t succeed. “Yeah, well, there is that.” He slumped tiredly against the door. The PT sessions were helping him a lot but they also wore him out for a couple hours. It would take a good thirty-five minutes to get back home. _Okay, not home. Bobby’s place._

“You know,” Jo interrupted his blissful attempt to nap, “Ash told me about the training thing.”

“Mmm.”

“I think you should do it,” Jo merged smoothly onto the highway as she attempted to breach Dean’s defenses.

_And apparently napping is not going to happen!_

“You are not seriously listening to anything Ash says,” Dean protested as he glanced over at her. “Please tell me you’re just bustin’ my chops.”

“Actually, I’m not,” Jo merged into the left lane, “I think it’s a good idea. YOU are good at this, Dean. Doesn’t matter what happened this time. This would never have happened if you’d been able to have another hunter with you. A trained knowledgeable hunter. I think this would be good for you.”

“Jo! You cannot be serious!”

“Yes, Dean, I am serious,” she said as she continued to look at the road ahead, “think about it. How many times d’you think you can do this? Get hurt like this?”

She heard a frustrated whine come from Dean. “And exactly how much of Ash’s ganja weed have you been smokin’?”

Jo’s eyes never left the road, “Do not look at me in that tone of voice,” she snarked turning onto the local highway that led back to Bobby’s.

Dean turned to her with a cocked brow.

“I said do not look at me in that tone,” Jo admonished, “Ash may be a stoner, but stupid he’s not. And he’s got a point. You ARE good at this Dean. Your father, and you know there’s no love lost between me and him, he taught you well, and, AND you’ve done a lot on your own. You’re not just some foot soldier just letting John lead you around.”

“I…”

“Don’t interrupt,” Jo griped. “I’ve heard what Sam’s said to you about blindly following John, and maybe you did do that, what kid doesn’t. Especially with him, but it doesn’t lessen the fact that you, Dean Winchester, are a very good hunter. You’re respected in the community and I think you could be more so, if you really strike out on your own. Every time your name comes up at the Roadhouse it’s always good. I think you should do this.”

Dean let out a slightly ragged sigh as the jeep ate up the roadway. He leaned into the doorway and got lost in the rhythm of the highway lines that blurred into his thoughts.

“You’re thinking pretty loud there,” Jo commented as she finally pulled into the salvage yard.

“Nothing you’d wannta hear.” He swung open the door and pulled his legs around to the side. Jo had pulled around so that he was facing the front door and the new ramp Bobby’d put in for him to use. He’d learned the hard way just a couple days ago not to try standing yet, so he waited for Jo to bring the chair around.

The screen door opened with it’s ever-present creak, “So, how’d it go?” Dean looked up as Bobby leaned against the post and waited for Dean to answer.

“Good.”

“Good?”

Dean squinted up at the older man as he grabbed onto the back of the chair as Jo held it and then eased down into it. “Yeah,” Dean turned toward the ramp, “it went good. Good is, you know better than not good.”

Bobby adjusted his cap to hide the fact that he’d just rolled his eyes. Jo snorted and gently swatted Dean on the back of the head, “You’re such a guy!”

“Hey,” he ducked and rolled out of reach, “you promised me a corsage.”

Bobby looked from Dean to Jo as they reached the porch. “What the hell are you two jabberin’ about?”

“Hunter school,” Jo answered at the same time Dean answered, “Nothing.”

Bobby’s surprise was met with an annoyed scowl from his surrogate son. Neither looked away. Dean finally caved, “What?”

Bobby looked at him from under the cover of his cap, and finally shrugged, “Nothin’.”

Dean let out a huff and pulled the door open. Wheeling through he didn’t stop in the hall or detour to the front room where he and Bobby and Sam had spent hours researching or just hanging out. He missed his usual room that was his here at Bobby’s. The one upstairs and to the left. But, this downstairs room had been his now for more than three months.

He stopped just inside the door. He was tired from the PT, but itching for activity. Activity that he was used to, activity he knew. Flexing his hands he peeled off the gloves he’d taken to wearing while using the chair. The skin on his palms was still thin and not fully healed. The gloves added protection, and, hopefully he’d not have to wear them forever. It was a small price to pay for still having hands at all.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty room.

“Fuck, what?”

Dean jumped at the laconic voice that could only belong to one person.

“Ash, do not start with me today, you get me?”

“Harsh, dude,” Ash nodded, “I get ya. Someone harshed your mellow but good, huh?” He rubbed his hand across his chest, “I just thought you’d want some company.”

Dean gave him a tight smile, “I’m wiped out from this afternoon. I’m just,” he looked longingly at the bed, “I’m gonna just lie down for a while, ya know.”

“Sure,” Ash bounced on his toes for a second and cocking a finger gun at Dean backed out of the room.

Dean let out a long sigh as he spun the chair toward the bed. He stared at it as though challenging it to change his mind on the nap he really didn’t want.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before he let out a groan that couldn’t have been more pissed off. The bed cringed at the sound. Wheeling back toward the dresser he had to lean over to pick up the larger of the two bags that had sat on the floor so long, Bobby had to vacuum dust off it the other day.

Daring it to change his mind, Dean just locked his gaze on it. Finally, snatching it from its comfy spot on the floor he rolled back to the bed dragging the desk chair with him. It’s screeched protest echoed around the room. Squaring himself at the side of the bed and throwing back the bed’s coverlet he emptied the duffle. The soft thuds were masked by the cushioning of the bedding. In short order he set himself to work doing something that was useful and that also always seemed to relax him.

 

Jo looked toward the double doors to the kitchen as Ash came through. “Hey.”

Ash twisted his mouth in greeting.

“Beer?” Bobby turned from the fridge with one in his hand.

“Thanks.” Ash popped the top after tapping the surface a couple times. It was a quirk of his. He did it with soda pop cans and beer cans alike.

Bobby studied the hacker for a few moments as he took a long draw on his own beer. Ash was a good kid. Odd. But an all right sort. Reliable if you needed intel of the electronic kind. Lately, he’d even proved his mettle with some truly esoteric material he and Rufus needed for a hunt.

Ash could feel the old man’s eyes on him. He knew what Dean was to Bobby. Dean and Sam were sons to him. The sons he’d never had, but Dean? Dean was definitely the favorite son if ever there was one. He liked Bobby. Bobby was a no bullshit guy. He was determined not to squirm under his scrutiny. He took a sip of his beer.

The dust motes landed with a piercing thud in the oppressive silence that descended on the three in the kitchen. Everyone had something to say. And they were all avoiding saying whatever it is they wanted to say. And they all knew exactly what it was they wanted to say.

A nails-on-chalkboard screeched made them all jump. Jo nearly choked on a swallow of beer. Bobby raised his cap as he looked toward the back bedroom.

“What the fu,” Ash stopped himself, “the hell was that?”

Bobby held up his hand and silenced them all.

In moments they heard several ‘hiss’ sounds and then the distinct slide of metal on metal, the click and scrape of metal being parted from other metal.

“I’d pretty much know that sound anywhere,” Bobby muttered as he put his beer down.

“Care to enlighten the unenlightened,” Ash quipped as he listened to the metal grating sounds that kept coming from Dean’s room.

Bobby cocked his head to listen, “Listen.”

Ash turned toward the doorway.

“That,” Bobby nodded in the direction of Dean’s room, “is the sound of a rifle being field stripped.”

“He’s cleaning guns!” Jo looked astonished and puzzled at the same time.

Bobby shrugged, “It relaxes him.”

Jo’s brows shot up, “Relaxes him? Cleaning guns?”

“Weapons,” Bobby corrected.

“Yeah, okay,” Jo sneered, “weapons. Whatever. That’s what relaxes him?”

“Oh, Sweeeeet,” Ash chortled, “he has so got to do this Hunter school! The guys a natural!”

Bobby huffed out a laugh, “He’s a trained hunter, idjit!”

“And THAT,” Ash excitedly pointed at Bobby, “is exactly my point!”

 

Bobby stood in the doorway to Dean’s room. He’d been there a while. Instinct told him that Dean knew he was there. He’d acknowledge that in his own time. It was a treat to watch the kid’s efficiency in stripping down a weapon, cleaning it and putting it back together. If there hadn’t been a mirror opposite Dean, Bobby would have only seen his movements from the back, but from his vantage point he had a front row seat.

“You gonna stand there until I’m done?”

Bobby frowned but stayed put.

Dean continued methodically cleaning the next weapon laid out before him. This was a pistol. Not one modified for salt. This one shot real bullets. He doggedly kept at his task.

“Bobby?” Dean laid another element out on the towel he’d laid down, “You can’t really think this hunting school is a good idea, right? I mean, it’s kind of silly, you know? If we told people that the monsters they tell their kids about to get them to go to bed are real, we’d be locked up in the loony bin! And training hunters, hell, Bobby, we’d be laughed out of the roadhouse!”

Bobby took a couple steps closer, but held his tongue. Didn’t keep his eyes from rolling though.

“I mean, think about it,” Dean continued as he oiled the pistol’s firing pin, “it’s dumb. What are we gonna do print up business cards, We Hunt Monsters,” he chuckled, “Monster Exterminators, your town has ‘em, we get rid of ‘em.” He chuckled softly as he finished oiling the inner workings of the pistol.

He shook his head with a grin, “And how the hell we gonna find guys or anyone who wants to be trained as a hunter? We gonna put an ad in Guns and Ammo, Soldier of Fortune? Oh, no, wait, we can put an ad in some of those wacky paranormal magazines that are mostly run by nut jobs. Yeah, that’ll work.” You didn’t have to listen hard for the sneering derision. “Or, no, even better, maybe there’s a website Ash wants us to put up, you know, We Hunt Monsters, You Can, Too! Get free salt gun ammo when you sign up for your first training session?”

Dean laughed at his own musings, “That’s kinda funny, but you see my point, right?” He stopped reassembling the Sig Sauer in his hand, “Bobby?”

He spun his chair around, “Bobby?”

His surrogate father leaned on the door jamb with a small frown. He adjusted his ball cap and looked steadily at Dean. “I’m not so sure it is a dumb idea.”

Dean swallowed his laugh. He looked fondly at Bobby, “How can you say that? You know Hunters. You know that no one really admits we exist.”

“No,” Bobby shook his head, “I know that no one wants to know we’re around. No one wants to give any credence to the big bad. It makes them feel too small. And so, they figure it don’t touch them.”

“Yeah, I know that people know what we do,” Dean agreed, “but, Bobby, c’mon, man, nobody’s gonnta pay me to teach them to hunt.”

Bobby snorted as he raised his cap, “You got quite a nice little pack of excuses there, donchya? And who exactly do you think you’re talkin’ to, son? You’re one of the best natural hunters to come down the pike in a long time! And I know you got here in the worst way possible, but you are here. AND you’re good.” He looked narrowly at Dean, “You don’t think you could help some poor idjit keep his own life? Protect his partner? You don’t think you’ve got a passel of good info and skills to pass on? And do not shake your head at me!”

“I’m a soldier, Bobby,” Dean shot back as he obediently ceased shaking his head, “Not a general.” He spun back to address the remaining weapons in need of service.

“Idjit!”

Bobby strode into the room and whipped Dean’s chair to face him, “Do not do that! Do not put yourself down like that. You are as much a general as that poor excuse you have for a father. A general, a good one, puts himself before his men, the way you’ve always done with Sam.” Bobby held Dean’s chair as he tried to turn from him, “I think you should talk to Ash. The kid’s got a good idea. And YOU are a good hunter.”

Dean swallowed down his disbelief. Cocking his head he considered what Bobby said. He trusted him, but his belief in himself was always a doubt, “And you really think people would pay me to teach them to hunt?”

“Yes, I do.” Bobby straightened up, “Whadda you afraid of? Failing? Like getting carved up by a dragon that you’re fighting on your own isn’t failing? But you’re ready to go after it again as soon as you get your walking papers. Tell me I’ve got that wrong?”

Dean suddenly found the planks of the bedroom floor fascinating.

“Well,” Bobby challenged him, “do I?” Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth.

“Look at me, boy!”

Dean looked up at his surrogate father.

“Do. I. have. it. wrong?”

Dean shrugged, “No, sir.”

Bobby gave him a curt nod, “I think you should hear Ash out. I’d work with you. Rufus, too.”

Dean jerked in surprise.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Bobby groused, “There’re a lot of old hunters. And not enough young’uns. We need new blood. And I’ve got your first student and there’ll be others.”

“You have a student? Who?”

“Never mind that,” Bobby scolded, “You think about it. Talk to Ash. And don’t be an idjit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby nodded. He pointed to the bed with his chin, “Finish that up, change those sheets and come out for dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean backed up slightly and turned back to the bed. His hands hovered over the weapons for a moment as Bobby left the room. He dropped his hands into his lap and let out a long sigh.

Bobby watched from the far side of the hallway. A small smile played around his lips. “Don’t think too hard! You might hurt something! And it’s not rocket science!”

 

-  
End, Part Three

Thank you for reading... I'd adore hearing what you thought. Your comments are a writer's currency!

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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone still reading this little story! I can't believe it's been a year since I updated... actually more than a year! What can I say except that life majorly got in the way! It really did. And this story, while on my mind a great deal just stalled! Finally, the muse cooperated and I was able to get going on this again. So, for all of you still reading... thank you and enjoy! This one is a long one for this story, and just note, there's only one more chapter left! Thanks for reading, Lisa

Dean twisted the longneck bottle between his palms. It was good to be out of the house and not at a hospital. A night at The Roadhouse was just the ticket to itchy feet and ragged thoughts. And another week of PT had gotten his legs into better fighting shape than they’d been. Plus, he was two weeks ahead of schedule. By the end of the week he expected to be out of the chair. He could already use a cane for short trips like to the bathroom.

He couldn’t wait to get out of the _butt-wheels_ as Ash trippingly called them. “Just for ya, bud,” Ash tossed another batch of printouts in front of him. “And,” Ask sat and tipped his bottle toward the juke behind them, “wait for it.” He smiled and wiggled his brows as the familiar and beloved strains of Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song screamed across the bar. “Had Ellen put some in just for your listening pleasure!” 

Dean gave him a nod and tipped his bottle to Ellen. “So, what’s all of this,” he pulled the new material Ash laid out for him on the scarred table. 

“These, my man,” Ash shuffled through one of the stacks and pulled out one sheet, “are some possible names for you,” he pulled out another stapled batch of papers, “and these are some of the people that I know that you know, that are looking for hunters.” He leaned in toward Dean, “Trained hunters.” 

Dean looked over the paperwork that Ash had tossed in front of him as the hacker babbled on about the hunting school. Looking over the list of names he found himself nodding at the names he recognized. He was a little surprised at how many he knew.

“So,” Bobby’s voice cut through his thoughts, “I think this could work.”

Dean snorted again, “For the last four days you guys have been yammerin’ about this and I gotta tell ya,” he looked at Bobby, “and no disrespect, but I don’t see it.”

Ash grinned, “Now, see, I have to admit I was kinda hopin’ you would say that!”

“Say, what?”

“You talkin’ about that damn fool training idea,” Ellen’s whiskey burnished voice interrupted Ash as she slid into the booth.

“See!” Dean pointed to Ellen and shot her a brilliant grin, “At last! Someone who’s got sense!” He tipped his beer in salute to her before taking a deep pull from it. “Thank you, Ellen! Now, talk to these two,” he jerked his thumb at Bobby and Ash.

“It’s not a damn fool idea,” Ash said sounding offended, “it’s not any more foolish than hunting alone or having some other hunter on your territory who’s an idiot.”

Ellen nodded with a slight frown of thought, “He’s got a point there, son.”

“Com'again,” Dean spat as his shoulders drew back, “two seconds ago,” he looked at her narrowly, “you were on my side.”

“And I still am,” Ellen smirked, “hunting alone is dangerous.” She tipped her beer at him, “I think we can all attest to that.”

“Dean!” Ash pushed a sheaf of papers that he’d culled from the pile, “Look at the numbers. They do not lie, my friend.” He shoved the first page in front of his friend, “Numbers of possible earnings. Real money. And you’re not breaking anyone’s bank either,” he gave Dean a knowing nod, “that’s important, too, since most of these guys do this without making a dime, you know that better than most.”

Dean’s brows arched slightly and then furrowed as he read. He peered up at Bobby and then over to Ash, “These for real?” He passed the page to Ellen who pulled her glasses from the top of her head to look them over. She frowned as she read and finally let out an impressed huff.

“If these are realistic,” she handed the page back to Dean, “and Ash is not careless when it comes to the dollars, then,” she nodded, “I’d say you could have a winner here.”

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” Dean muttered and let out a long sigh. The sound of splintering glass pulled everyone’s attention toward the other side of the bar as fists began to fly. Dean was starting out of his seat before he remembered that he’d be able to do nothing in his current condition. He fell back with an exasperated sigh.

“HEY! IDIOTS!” Jo clanged the bell that was hanging from one of the wide pillars at the corner of the bar, “knock it off!”

The men paid her no heed as they careened passed the u-shaped structure and came startlingly close to the table where Dean and Ash were sitting. Both men were stocky and seemingly evenly matched but the dark-headed one definitely seemed to have either brute strength or a hotter temper giving him the edge over the blond. Dean rolled his chair over to the side of the booth and loosened one of his arm rests as the blond on the receiving end of a resounding uppercut landed him to the right of the wheelchair. Unperturbed, his dark-headed attacker came after him only to be stopped when Dean took his feet right out from underneath him.

“The lady said to knock it off,” Dean growled as the man looked up with eyes wide with shock. He started to sit up with his fist drawn back. Dean brandished the metal chair arm, “Ah-ah-ah,” he cocked a brow at the miscreant, “it’s time for you to be leavin’,” Dean nodded curtly, “you’re disturbing my peace.”

The man snorted as he pulled himself up to his feet, “You’re a gimp! You got lucky!”

Ash groaned as he sat back in the booth and pulled his papers toward him. Dean looked at the man through narrowed eyes, “I took you down without standing up and without breaking a sweat.” He tilted his head to study the idiot in front of him, “You sure you want to try this again?” From the corner of his eye, he saw the blond getting up. “I suggest you stay where you are,” Dean pointed to him without turning, “your friend, here, is about to leave.”

As the dark-headed ‘idiot’ threw a punch aimed for Dean, his solar plexus met the stainless steel of reinforced bar of the wheelchairs armrest. As he doubled over trying to get his breath the distinct ratcheting sound of a shotgun being primed rumbled through the now silenced bar.

“Bobby,” Dean said quietly, “would you see these two out?” 

“With pleasure,” he slid out of his chair and took the winded one by his upper arm. He called out to another hunter, “Cutty! Gimme a hand, yeah?”

Bobby hustled his charge to the door and unceremoniously pushed him out, “Git! Do NOT come back here!” 

Cutty was a Roadhouse regular. He and Bobby had known each other a long time. He’d started toward the fracas and as Bobby called out to him he smoothed his cap back on his head, stood to his full six foot height and strode over to pull the blond up from the floor. The man kept his head down as Cutty clenched his hand around the man’s arm and dragged him out the door repeating the same warning that Bobby had just issued to his partner. As both men stumbled into the dark, he and Bobby readjusted their caps and came back in to fresh beers waiting for them.

“Nice work,” Ellen gave each man a nod as they took their beers. She took her daughter around the waist and led her behind the bar. The rifle was uncocked and set in its usual place.

It was another few seconds before the bar resumed its usual hum of chatter and clinking glasses. Bobby slid back into his seat and Cutty folded his lanky frame onto the bench seat and joined them. Dean replaced the arm of his chair and took a slow pull on his beer. He caught the two older men watching him.

“What?”

Ash cleared his throat and let out a soft snort.

Dean’s brows furrowed, “What?”

“That was Righteous,” Ash saluted him, “you took out that asshat without leaving The Chair.” 

Dean snorted dismissively, “He was an ass, Ash.” 

Ash pursed his lips and shook his head, “No.” He shoved the papers back in front of Dean, “You’re just that good at what you do. You’re a warrior in the best sense and that’s not me blowin’ sunshine up your ass. You were meant for this, to do this training. Call it fate or whatever, but this is your shot at making a living and still doing what you do best.”

Dean took a gulp of his beer and noticed the smirk on Bobby’s face. He looked down at the papers strewn over the table and back up at Bobby.

“Yeah?”

Bobby readjusted his cap and rifled through the papers, pulling one out and shoving it in front of Dean. “It’s a good idea. You’re good at it. There’s definitely a need…”

“Is this the hunter training,” Cutty asked interrupting.

Dean’s eyes snapped up at him, “How,” he glowered at Ash, “You didn’t…”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Cutty continued, “I gotta nephew who wants in and I can’t train him,” he slapped his leg, “gamey hip. The boy’ll get himself killed if he goes out on his own. And his Daddy’s useless in the field.”

Dean looked narrowly at Cutty, “And you’d pay?”

“Damn right, I would!”

“Me?”

Cutty looked into Dean’s questioning eyes. He could see the almost hope in the young hunter. 

Dean felt the old hunter’s eyes assessing him, taking in what he saw, the damaged man that was wheelchair bound. He could feel heat flush over his neck as Cutty’s gaze raked over him. “Well, son, you been in this game since you’re a tyke. Now, I don’t wanta talk bad about your daddy, his attitude leaves a lot to be desired. He’s secretive, doesn’t want to share or collaborate, but he trained you well. You been on your own now for a time and,” he waved his beer bottle up and down his body, “you know the danger of hunting alone, and you’re still here to tell the tale.” 

“Yeah, but…”

“Lemme finish.” Cutty took a swift gulp of his beer and his gaze narrowed on Dean, “Look a man that can stay alive the way you have,” he looked over and gave the hacker a nod, “Ash called it, Dean,” he locked onto the young hunter, “you’re a warrior. You’ve got skills. And you can hold your own. Why not pass it on and make a little legit cash.” He put his bottle down, “And we need young’uns like yourself that are smart and strong. Maybe it can get us out of the shadows and, hell, I don’t know, get the respect we’re due for doin’ like we do.”

Dean’s brows arched slightly listening to Cutty. He was a little ashamed of the warm feeling the man’s words put in this chest. _Smart and Strong. Strong, yeah. Smart? That’s Sammy._

“And I rest my case,” Ash’s brows bounced as he tipped his beer to Dean. He shook out his mullet, “So, now, quit trying to convince us that you’re not good enough to do this. Just believe us when we tell you that you are good enough.”

Ash’s relentless prodding continued as he pushed page after page in front of him. Finally, Dean leaned his elbows on the table and looked Bobby straight in the eyes, “So, I guess I’m doing this, then.”

Bobby gave him a nod and grinned around the bottle as he took another swig, “I guess you are.”

Cutty gave Dean a congratulatory slap on the back and handed his empty to Jo who’d brought a fresh round for the entire table. She looked from Ash to Dean, “You’re gonna do it?”

Dean’s eyes snapped up at the excitement in her voice. He gave her a curt nod and a small smile, “Winchester Hunting School, at your service.”

Jo let out a throaty chuckle. She handed him a fresh brew, “I want to be your first.”

“Well, darlin’,” Dean grinned, “that ship’s sailed …”

“Idiot,” she back-handed his shoulder, “I meant your first student!” She rolled her eyes as she collected the empties, “Get your mind out of my pants, wouldjya, Winchester!” Turning from the table she ran into her mom and leaned in and whispered, “He’d gonna do it. The school and I’m going to be the first to sign up!”

“Over my dead body!”

Dean whirled around to face Ellen. He thought of her almost like a surrogate mother. Her words cut his new confidence to the quick. “Ellen, I…” any words caught in his throat, “I would… wouldn’t let, uhm,” he forced himself to smile, “she’s just yanking your chain.”

Ellen took in the sliver of pain that skimmed into Dean’s eyes that was gone before she could blink, “Oh, hon,” she clapped a comforting hand on his shoulder, “I think the school’s a great idea. And there’s few better than you to train would-be-hunters into actual hunters, but not my Joanna Beth.” 

Dean nodded slowly, “I understand. I get it. It’s okay. I know you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.” He dipped his head as he turned back to the silenced table. “So. A name?”

“I’m signing up for the school,” Jo announced to her mother and there was no doubt or hesitation in her voice, “I’m of age. I don’t need your permission and if there’s few better than Dean, then why shouldn’t he teach me!” She stripped off her dishtowel apron and shoved at her mother, “You can’t keep me a little girl forever!”

Ellen grabbed Jo by her elbow and pulled her back, “I am not losing you to some ghost or creature or whatever it is that’s going to come between you and living!”

“Jo,” Dean said quietly, “you don’t want to do this.” He spun his chair around to look between the two most important women in his life, “It’s a terrible life. Do…do something good. Do something fun, make some money. Be safe.” It nearly killed him to tell her not to hunt. He knew how much she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps. He gave a small smile to Ellen, “M’sorry.” He spun his chair back to the table and quietly took a sip of his beer. The silence in their little corner of the Roadhouse had never been so completely void of sound. 

“Damn,” Bobby murmured as he looked at the devastated look in Dean’s eyes. He looked up at Ellen and saw fear in every line of her gently aging face. His eyes slid to Jo who nearly vibrated with fury.

“Ellen,” he adjusted his cap, “she’d gonna hunt whether you say so or not. Let her be safe. Let Dean help her.” He looked from Dean to Ellen to Jo, “You trust him, donchya?”

“Of course!”

“Then trust him with Jo.”

Dean heard the sigh that left Ellen’s lips. He resisted the temptation to look at her or Jo. He didn’t blame Ellen for wanting to keep Jo safe. He just never imagined thinking that she didn’t trust him would hurt so much.

He felt a hand on his arm. He knew it was Ellen’s before he even glanced over.

“Dean,” she let out a soft sigh as she sank into the chair next to him, “I trust you. I do. I just,” she let out a ragged breath, “I can’t lose her, you know that, right?”

Dean gave her a tight lipped nod. “I’ll do everything I can to help her, you know that.”

Ellen nodded and sucked in a deep breath, “I do.” She gave his arm a motherly pat and squeeze, “Forgive a worried mother.”

“Always.” Dean gave her a small smile. “She’ll be fine.” He looked up at Jo, “She’s smart. Fast. Good shot.” He looked back at Ellen, “She’ll be fine.”

Ellen nodded and slapped her hand on the table, “Well, I certainly put a damper on things, huh?”

“You couldn’t’ave done any better if you were plannin’ it,” Bobby groused.

Ellen pushed her hair back and tied a ponytail holder around it, “So, we need to name this school of yours, hmm?” She gave an encouraging smile to Dean, “You know, I can help you out with the books, ordering supplies and such.”

Dean’s brows rose in surprise, “That’d be great, Ellen.” He gave her a shy smile, “Thanks.”

“You’re my boy, too,” she gave his arm another squeeze, “I just lost my mind for a minute.” She turned toward her daughter who was still standing looking a bit shell-shocked, “Well, Joanna Beth, don’t just stand there. Get these boys something to drink!”

Ash took the bull by the horns and got them back on track, “All rightey, folks.” He pushed a single sheet of paper to the middle of the table, “First things first. The school needs a name. I was thinking something really catchy that people could remember.” He slapped another sheet of paper down for all to see, “How about _The Real Ghost Busters_.” His brows bounced as he spun the paper towards Dean, “Catchy, huh?”

“No.” Dean pushed the page back to him. Bobby covered his mouth to hide a smile. Cutty chocked back a chuckle.

Ash’s brows folded in confusion, “Not catchy? Really? Look, the logo is great!”

“No,” Dean covered the picture with his hand, “no it’s not catchy. It is not going to be the name of any school I’m going to have anything to do with.” 

Cutty broke in, “It’s cute, Ash, but this is serious business. It needs a serious name.”

Ash frowned and nodded, “Okay, okay.” He swept through another batch of papers, “Just remember, people remember cute.” He shrugged, “Maybe it’s better for the actual service and not the school. Yeah,” he murmured mostly to himself. “How about this then,” he slapped the page down in the center, “Winchester's Institute for Supernatural Exterminators.” He gave Bobby a nod and a wink, “We are WISE,” he bounced his brows ignoring the groan that came from Dean, “How’s that for serious, Cutty?”

Dean grimaced, “We are WISE?” He shuddered, “Dude! Seriously?” He muttered a bit under his breath but still audible enough to hear snippets of ‘wise’ and ‘exterminators’ with a distinct timbre of annoyance.

“You’re kidding, right,” Bobby muttered as he turned the page over and grabbed a pen from his pocket, “WISE, that bit’s funny, but the whole thing? What a mouthful. How about something real simple.” He scratched quickly across the page and slid it over to Dean when he finished.

Ash snorted as he peeked at the page. “No, nu-nu-no!” He grabbed another piece of paper, “It needs to be something unique, something people will remember!” He thought for a moment. He swept his hand through the air, “Venatus Academy for the Special Game Hunter.” He looked over at Bobby with a self-satisfied grin, “Hmm? You see? That’s a name they’ll remember!”

Cutty snorted, “Assuming that the would-be hunter even knows basic bastardized Latin!” He looked at Bobby’s paper, “I like this. Simple. Easy to remember. It’s got Dean’s name on it, it’s a sign of integrity.”

Dean carefully took the page Bobby had written on and started to sketch as the others bandied around various other names. When Ash offered Supernatural Exterminators again, he looked up briefly and just said ‘no’ and resumed sketching.

“Whataya got there, son,” Bobby asked as Dean furiously shaded and then quickly wrote something under the picture. He turned it to Bobby.

“I like Bobby’s name with one change.” He watched the man’s expression for approval or not. He saw Bobby’s brows raise slightly before he squinted at him in his usual way.

“It’s not necessary,” the old hunter said gruffly, “this is your deal.”

“Our deal,” Dean insisted. He nodded to the paper, “Whataya think?”

Bobby nodded and put the page in the center of the table, “I like it.” He smirked as he looked at the man that was like a son to him, “I think you’ve thought about this a lot more than you let on, hmm?”

Dean shrugged and dipped his head as he scrubbed at his stubble, “A little bit. Yeah.”

Ash picked up the paper with a low whistle, “This is awesome, man! _I will fear no evil_ , so cool!”

Bobby took the page back and scribbled on it, “I like this better.” He scratched out Dean’s addition of ‘Singer’ and moved it to after ‘Winchester’. 

Dean didn’t hide his surprise, “Winchester-Singer Hunter Training?”

“Mm.” Bobby adjusted his cap as he always did when he was making a decision.

Dean held his gaze as Ellen reached passed him to take the drawing, “Thanks, Bobby.”

The older hunter shrugged one shoulder, “It’s the way it should be.”

“Good drawing, Dean,” Ellen said as she tilted the page to look at it straight on, “excellent insignia.” She gave Dean a quick one armed hug, “I think we have a Hunter’s School.”

Dean took a sip of his now warm beer, “Now all we need are students.”  


-  
End, Part Four

Thank you for reading... I'd adore hearing what you thought. Your comments are a writer's currency!

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**Author's Note:**

>  **Copyright Disclaimers:** That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.
> 
> Sanford’s USD Medical Center in Sioux Falls provides leading care for patients from across the Midwest. As the largest hospital in South Dakota, and a teaching hospital for the Sanford School of Medicine at the University of South Dakota.


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